Shadows of The Past
by Emilatte
Summary: A "friend" at SHIELD academy invites Fitz to the Boiler Room to hang out. What he doesn't realize is how dangerous a very angry and wasted guy from Operations could be, or how much it would trigger memories from his childhood.


**Hello everyone! I'm finally back with another angst and h/c ridden AOS story! (I just can't help myself)**

**This story idea was given to me by my amazing friend Ughh_Fitz on Instagram and YouTube. She always has the best angsty Fitz story ideas and I live for it tbh. **

**It's our birthday today, so I had to finish writing it for the occasion. **

**Happy Birthday Bella! Love you (^-^)  
**

* * *

He's going to be late for class.

He can't afford to be late, not when he's on scholarship. His mum wouldn't be able to afford a fraction of the cost here. Not when she's working two jobs already just to keep the house. It also doesn't help that Landon— the student who lives in the dorm right next to him— had locked him out of their dorm all night in the frigid autumn temperatures. He was managing alright for a while when an hour before his first class he realized that his books happened to be inside.

Landon only let him back in after he agreed to do his papers for the rest of the semester, because he was too busy flirting with girls to pay attention during any of the lectures. He's a slightly fit guy with dark hair, that's about a foot taller than Fitz but average looking. Like himself, Landon is on scholarship, so Fitz can't blame him for being desperate. He only wishes the 20 year old sophomore would give him a break sometimes.

Fitz _is _only 17 after all.

Fitz also wishes it wasn't so lonely here. Sure there's hundreds of students roaming the campus at all hours, but none of them have given him the time of day. He's only been here for a few months and to them he's already just the fledgling golden boy who was stealing one of the top class spots from older, more deserving classmates. Most everyone seems to avoid him because they think he's weird, arrogant, spoiled, callous, or all of the above. He guesses Landon is the closest thing he has to a friend now. The guy isn't too bad, he just made some bad decisions.

He rushes to Professor Hall's Chemical Kinetics class, a little nervous because that's one of his classes with _Jemma Simmons. _The other student at the top of the class. They've been neck and neck with their scores, neither one stays on top for too long. Fitz would love to talk with someone else who's at the top of their classes, but he's pretty sure she hates him now.

They were partners on a project together and, like usual, he said the wrong thing in a panic and now she probably never wants to talk to him. Long story short— she thinks that he thinks that she's just thick wall and now he's terrified that he blew it.

She seems to be avoiding him and gives him odd looks in their lectures. Like now for instance: Prof. Hall just asked a question about hypothetical endothermic chemical reactions, to which Leo and Jemma both raised their hands to answer. Fitz knew this answer for sure. He had spent the entire day before being locked out studying catalysts and positive reactions. A few other students roll their eyes at them, already know they would be the ones to answer.

Prof. Hall calls Fitz to answer, which he does, and sneaks a quick look in Jemma's direction. She has an irritated look on her face, like it was his decision that he was chosen. He swears that she sees him only as a bitter rival. He's been trying to think of something witty to say to her, but social skills have never been his area of expertise.

Now that the class is over, Fitz feels the urge to apologize to her. He really likes her and feels a little more comfortable around her than others. He doesn't want it to be ruined for good, especially since they were having another session tonight in her room.

_Her _room. The thought is _kind of _freaking him out. A lot.

He's probably just going to say something stupid and make a fool of himself again. That's all he ever seems to be able to do.

She's gently sliding her laptop and notebooks into her floral laptop bag when he finally works up the tiniest bit of courage to go apologize. He weaves through a few of the departing students only to stop in his tracks when he sees her now talking to someone else. Milton he thinks the guy's name is. An idiot (by their standards) sophomore whose head is almost shaped like a cabbage, Fitz realizes now that he has a good view. Fitz turns abruptly to avoid any awkward eye contact with anyone— especially Jemma. He sprints into the hall to get away from the crowd. Too many bodies looming around him. He was starting to panic a little before he got out.

He decides to forgo the food court— since the free meals are usually past the expiration and he barely has any money at the moment anyways— and go straight to his dorm so he can get a head start on his _and _Landon's papers for the week. He doesn't want to screw up his own paper because he's busy with Landon's but he also doesn't want to make any mistakes with Landon's out of fear of what he might do, plus he can usually go about twelve hours without food before he gets dizzy so he has at least three more hours of study time left.

oOo

The following Friday when Fitz is heading back to his room from dinner, Landon approaches him eagerly. He's really isn't a bad guy Fitz has come to find out, he just hates to do work. So he may be a little manipulative and buckle into the pressure quite easily, but after he's gotten to know Leo a little bit more the past few days he wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt him. Fitz could tell he really wants to be a SHIELD scientist one day. They aren't technically friends per se, but they're definitely really good acquaintances.

"Hey Fitz, your paper got me a perfect score! I really thought I was going to flunk this class. Thanks man!" He says with relief and Fitz gives him a shy smile.

"You're uh... you're welcome." He responds modestly, turning to leave but Landon adds something.

"Oh hey, basically everyone I know is going to the Boiler Room tonight for drinks and games to celebrate our victorious test scores. You should come— I wouldn't have been able to do it without you." Landon suggests. Fitz feels a little bit of excitement at the fact that someone is actually inviting him to something, but also a thick sense of terror.

"But, I'm not old enough to drink yet... I don't think it's a very good idea, and... I have plans."

"Like what a study session with your imaginary friend? Aw come on... they have regular drinks too. Just come and have a good time. We'll throw around ideas and stuff and it'll be like one big study session anyways. Get out of your dorm for the night, for once in your life and have some _real fun,_ Fitz."

He's been to the Boiler Room a couple times. He didn't feel as if he really fit in there though. Everyone else is older than him and more social, and probably aren't as messed up.

"I don't know..." He voices skeptically. He'll probably just ruin everyone's fun, and he was supposed to meet up at Jemma's place in a half hour.

"C'mon it'll be fun." Landon persuades and grabs Fitz' shoulder to drag him along, not noticing the younger boy flinch at the contact. He was just reminiscing that Landon caves into peer pressure, and now look what he's doing. The irony doesn't escape him.

Who knows, maybe this won't be such a bad idea after all?

oOo

_This was a horrible idea. _Fitz realizes.

Loud music is pounding, bright lights flashing, everyone smelling like alcohol. The grating rolls of the heavy bass are piercing the air and shaking the floor with every pound. Landon pulls him over to the others, a group of three not including himself and Landon, who had already been stationed at the other end of their group who take up about a quarter of the circular bar.

He didn't realize Landon had made so many new friends— some of which are guys who are less than enthusiastic about Fitz' presence most of the time. Tonight is no exception.

"Hey, you're the kid that's at the top of the classes here right? _Fritz_ or something?" A tall and greasy guy who seems to be from Operations asks. They all look to be from Ops actually, based off their clothes and the way they hold themselves, plus Fitz doesn't recognize any of them.

_"Fitz."_ He corrects, a little irritated. He looks around for Landon, but the guy seems to have disappeared at the other end of their group. So much for coming together.

"Right. I'm surprised you're not holed up in the library studying for a test or something. Well uh take a seat, I'll get you something to drink."

"No thanks," He protests sitting down. "I don't want any alcohol."

"Oh c'mon don't be so uptight. Loosen up a little bit, it's the weekend. Nobody cares about your age here, you won't be ratted out or anything."

"That's okay. I'll just have some water. Don't uh... don't want to get dehydrated." He glares at Fitz with a disbelieving look before turning to the bartender, clearly amused by his awkwardness.

"Hey," He beckons. "Get me one the special mocktails for the kid over here." He says before winking at the shady looking bartender suggestively. Fitz is a little wary of what that means but is brought out of his thoughts by all of the sensory distractions around him. While the bartender mixes everyone's drinks, the guy puts his arm around Fitz' shoulders like they're already good friends.

"You're uh... you're from Operations?"

"Yeah, I come around here from time to time though. Landon and Chris are really good friends of mine so we come here to hang out."

"Ah. Cool." Fitz replies awkwardly. He wasn't aware anyone from Ops knew about this place.

"So how _do _you get such good grades? My friends and I have been cramming all semester and you still come out on top. What, do you have a little deal with the teachers? A little something on the side with Professor Weaver, huh?" Him and his buddies all chuckle at the implication. What they're suggesting makes Fitz' stomach turn.

"What? No! I just... I just study. It's not all that hard." The guys eye him predatorily for a while but their glares disperse as drinks arrive. Fitz notices all of the drinks were made right there and were slid down the counter where as his came from the back? Fitz pushes the thought away. He's just being paranoid. His original apprehension about the drink fades and he decides to use it to hide from the glances instead. Anything to distract him and make the others ignore him. He still sniffs it beforehand just to be safe, but it smells nothing like alcohol. Not like the scent of his father's scotch that always permeated the house.

The taste isn't unpleasant, he actually enjoys it. It seems like a medley of different fruits infused with some carbonation. Maybe it isn't alcohol at all? Maybe he was just looking into things too much. These guys seem nice enough, and he's not going to waste something someone else bought for him, it would be rude. His eyes scan over the drink menu to find what looks like the stuff he's drinking, and he's pleased to discover it's on the non-alcoholic menu. There is a twinge of something bitter in the aftertaste, but he ignores it. It's probably just orange zest or something like that.

He takes another swig of his drink before looking around the Boiler Room to other people dancing and having a good time. He's envious of them. That they can be so comfortable and carefree around other people like this. Unfortunately his social anxiety has never allowed him the same luxury. Speaking of his anxiety, it seems to be ramping up at the moment. The crowd seems more dense, the walls a little bit closer, the air thicker. The heat radiating from the bodies making the room hotter and hotter. He leans forward and looks at the others but they're just chatting and laughing about random drabble, seemingly not affected by the heat at all. Maybe it was just him?

About a half an uncomfortable hour later, Fitz took a final gulp of his juice and sat the ice filled glass back on the bar with a thud. The guy next to him motioned for a refill on it and he found he didn't have the energy to protest. The lights were brighter and more chaotic, but in a slow morphing way. They streaked a little when he turned his head too fast and it made his brain hurt. His mouth becoming dry, he takes a large gulp of his drink as soon as it arrives.

He then remembers his plans with Jemma.

Checking his watch, the freshman squints and blinks to clear the layer of fog over his vision. He can barely make out the blurry hands of the small clock pointing to the 8:50 area.

_Bloody hell_— He was supposed to meet Jemma at eight! Why does he always have to be such a screw up? He feels a deep panic swell in his chest before it's smothered as the guy puts his arm around his shoulders again.

_Why does he keep doing that?_

"Hey so Lan told me that you helped him with his paper. You could maybe do that for us too right? I mean you being at this area of the academy, you must be able to handle the stuff us dumb Ops guys are learning." The guy (whose name Fitz still hasn't learned to he now refers to him as 'Guy') jokes. It seems to almost be a baiting question, like their waiting for him to say something wrong just so they can reprimand him for it.

His father was like that.

The question eludes him for a second. The words swirling a little, their order getting flipped around. Almost like how one of his childhood friends explained having dyslexia. Help them? Like tutor or something?

"Y-yeah of course..." He stutters.

"Great! Guys, he said yeah—" Guy says to his friends and they look pretty happy. _Wow they're pretty excited for a study session. _He thinks to himself before realizing Guy had started talking again. "So, if you could get them done by Monday that would be amazing."

Wait... get them done? Like the papers? And by Monday no less. That's not what he thought they meant.

"Wait— no... I'm n-not doing it _for _you..." Fitz corrects them clumsily and incredulous. "You guys just n-need to study s'more." They all give him dangerous glares.

"What are you saying we're not smart enough? You saying we're stupid? Not all of us are stuck up geniuses like you."

"N-no I didn't mean it that way." Fear creeps into his mind. He feels vulnerable when he's this disoriented— when his only attribute is dampened. Suddenly the lights seems even blurrier and the music is more muffled. The pounding of the music mixing the pounding in his own head. His limbs are clumsy and uncoordinated, the feeling in his hands reduced significantly.

"You just said you would do it and now you won't? Make up your mind idiot."

_Idiot._

An echo of his father's voice buzzes in his head. Oh God. Not now. He hasn't thought about his dad in almost a full day and this guy just ruined it.

Stupid _idiotic worthlesspatheticmoron_—

No.

His mum told him to stop thinking about himself like that, even though it was excruciatingly difficult. Even harder when he can barely control his thoughts— and his arm apparently, which he didn't realize was still grasping his almost full glass as he slid off of the bar stool. The glass came with his hand spilling the abundance of liquid on Guy's pants and shoes.

_Oh no._

He looks up apprehensively to find the look of pure rage on Guy's face. This dude has had at least three drinks and had something way stronger than his.

Fitz knows all too well what an angry drunk looks like, and this definitely hits the mark.

"The hell is wrong with you!" He shouts standing up. Fitz is frozen with fear. He's _really angry, _and drunk. That's always a lethal combination. It's hard to see clearly anymore with the neon lights bleeding together sluggishly. He isn't able to put together a cohesive thought either. Through the thick layer of whatever is clogging his ears, he's able to distinguish Guy mumble something along the lines of "—extra for special K" and "—didn't even work."

Fitz isn't sure what 'Special K' is but he's pretty sure they aren't talking about the cereal.

"M'sorry—" Fitz slurs "I'll g'you a new one." He isn't even sure if he's referring to the pants or the shoes anymore, he just knows he's extremely sorry. Guy huffs an angry sarcastic laugh before grabbing his own drink and splashing it roughly in Fitz' face.

The unexpected burn of the alcohol in his eyes causes his legs to buckle, sending him sliding down the front of the bar and onto the floor. He hears the guys laughing and briefly wonders if Landon is laughing too. The stinging starts to subside as he wipes his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. He peers up at the group and sees Landon a few seats away. He's not laughing, he looks more nervous or pitying, but he doesn't do anything to help him either.

The overwhelming scent of scotch catches in the back of his throat causing him to cough. One smell is all it takes to catapult him back to his childhood home. Strong hands and harsh words. His father's belt sliding from it's loops. Someone's glass shatters on the floor but all he can hear is the crash of an empty scotch bottle flying against a wall near his head.

All of the sudden a hand is fisted in his hair, stretching his neck back so he's facing upwards. He scrunches his eyes to block out the bright lights and abate the residual stinging. His arms feebly coming to grab the the intruding hand, but he barely has enough strength to lift them up at all.

"Y'know I wanted to do this nicely b'you're just being too much of a stubborn, know-it-all, little_ bastard_." Guy's hot breath seethes into his ear, "I think someone needs a little bit more to drink to loosen up—"

Hard liquor is poured down his throat. He chokes and sputters as it burns his esophagus and unintentionally gets sucked down his windpipe.

Fitz' muddled mind jumps to his childhood again. His dad did this once when he accused Fitz' seven-year-old self of breaking into his liquor cabinet when _he didn't._

_'You want some so bad, you can have some_—' He had said before he pulled the boy's head back and forcefully tilted the bottle to his lips. Fitz has always wondered if the universe is purposely punishing him for being weak.

In the present, hacking coughs wrack his body as his lungs try to expel the liquid they unwillingly came in contact with. His stomach is turning at all of the sensations overwhelming his senses. The voices were laughing and ridiculing him.

He was right. This _was_ a horrible idea.

oOo

_This was a great idea! _Jemma Simmons thinks to herself as she enjoys a virgin cocktail with her friends.

She was waiting in her dorm for an hour for Leopold Fitz to show up so they could work on their project and he never did. Maybe he was trying to get back at her for being late the other day. How childish. Of all people she could've been assigned to she got _him._

She was a little wary about coming to the Boiler Room instead of waiting for Leopold just in case he was just late like her, but this was amazing! There was dancing, delicious drinks, and even more delicious guys flirting with her left and right. They were gossiping about different things around the school and discussing their projects. It was nice to get out of the dorm every now and then.

Jemma stands up and— informing her friends that she's getting another drink— makes her way through the bustling crowd to the bar. She places her order with the bartender that seems kind of like a creep, and stands there patiently while he mixes it. She looks around the room for some sort of mental stimulation while having to wait here doing nothing. She does see something that piques her interest, but its not in a positive way.

Leopold is here, at the other side of the bar.

She scrunches her nose. What a jerk! He blew her off completely just to come here and drink.

She tries to ignore him so she can get back to her friends, but there's some niggling feeling that makes her look again. He looks quite out of sorts. His hands fumbling as he sucks down his drink at an unsightly pace. He must've drank too much. Jemma, being the good citizen/future SHIELD agent she is, has never condoned underage drinking, which is why her drink is non-alcoholic. He isn't even the legal age to drink in their shared homeland, which is 18. There's some guys in the seats adjacent to his that seem to be with him, a few of which she knows for a fact are bad news.

The guy next to him looks pretty mad, but knowing how Leopold can be, she's not surprised he upset that guy. Leopold slides off his seat and accidentally spills his drink all over the other guy. She laughs a little bit at his awkwardness before remembering who it is she's talking about. She thinks it was a perfectly understandable accident but the guy doesn't seem so amused. He takes his glass and tossing the liquid in Leopold's face, making him crumple to the floor worryingly. She looks around the room to see if anyone else noticed his violent action but it seems everyone is too caught up in their own fun.

_That could damage his eyesight! _Her inner doctor tells her, forcing her to abandon the niggling little thought that he deserved it. She has the urge to run over and help him but those guys are pretty big and scary. Who knows what they could do to her too? In the end she decides to push through the thick crowd and make her way over there. Maybe she could ask them nicely.

She stares in horror as the big guy grabs Leopold by the hair, yanking his head back, and snarls something into his ear before taking one of his friends drinks— since he already tossed his— and ruthlessly pours it down Leopold's throat. He coughs and chokes on it, a scream muffled by the bubbling liquid in his windpipe.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" She yells over the loud music and steps closer. "Go find somewhere else to drunk." She has no idea where this burst of courage came from but she's starting to regret it. The guy releases his hold on Leopold's hair and he drops like a rag doll. The others get up from their stools.

They seem amused by her tenacity. The big guy who did all of the horrible things to Leopold comes forward and does an exaggerated bow.

"Sorry we upset you, _milady._" He mocks her British accent, and beckons the rest of his laughing group to leave with him, claiming something about this place being dead anyways. The big guy _'accidentally' _kicks Leopold's outstretched leg on his way out. One of the guys in the back of the group looks back at her and Leopold with almost remorse before following the others.

She watches them for a moment to make sure that they leave before turning to check on her rival. She's never seen him this close before, he always stayed a few feet away or kept his head down, so this is entirely new and scary but she knows he needs help. Even if he as much of a jerk as he seems sometimes.

The scottish boy has curled in on himself, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. His arms hugging himself tightly as if cold.

The sight of his face illuminated in the soft glow of the lights under the bar makes the air rush out of her lungs. Some of his curly brown hair hangs in wet tendrils on his forehead, dripping alcohol down his eyes and cheeks. His eyes twitch every time a droplet falls, but he doesn't move much.

His crystal blue eyes are somehow half-lidded and struck with fear at the same time, moving around to stare at different points on the floor through long eyelashes. He's less average looking than she thought he was this close. She almost dare say he's kind of attractive, with symmetrical features that are delicate but not in a feminine way.

_Ugh, now is not the time for this! _She scolds herself. She had trouble imagining being friends with him, let alone be with him like _that._

"Hey uh— can you hear me?" She asks hesitantly. He sucks in a sharp breath, and she figures it's the closest thing she'll get a straight answer. "Leopold?" She touches his shoulder and he flinches but doesn't move. To her surprise he starts to whisper something.

"W-won't do it again, f-father. Not again. I didn't— I prom-promise. M'sorry please don't... " He whimpers heartbreakingly, his Scottish accent thick with emotion but fast with desperation. Those words could really only mean one thing and the thought of it is horrifying. "I... I can't move. Dad please m'sorry— I'm sssorry please don't... don't—"

_Hurt me. _Simmons' mind fills the blank in abhorrently. She starts to feel bad for being angry at him.

No no no, he was just supposed to be an awkward teacher's pet and the guy that stood her up, he wasn't supposed to have a cryptic past and fears and... whatever the rest of it was.

She pushes away her feelings once again to get back to the task at hand. Mentally, she goes over the emergency steps she learned in field medicine. She pulls her new StarkPhone out of her pocket to use as a brighter light since the light under the bar was behind his head.

The doctor-in-training runs through all of the symptoms he's exhibited. She stops when she reaches his near-paralysis. Even if he was really drunk, he should be able to move, uncoordinated or not. Unless... it was more than just a drink.

"What were you drinking?" She asks in hope for some sort of understandable answer. His eyelids flicker.

"No alc'hol." He whispers. If he didn't have an alcoholic drink, then what's his problem? Allergic reaction maybe?

She grasps his chin, bringing his eyes to meet hers. His eyes somehow manage to be wide with fear and half-lidded at the same time. She takes the opportunity to shine her light at them. As she waves her phone in front of his face, she sees a problem that only adds to her suspicions. His pupils are blown wide, dilated way too large to be normal. He takes quick panicked breaths.

"Was there something in your drink?" She tries. His mouth opens as he seems to realize who is actually talking to him.m

"They... special. S-said." He stutters. He's not making any sense. Most likely delirious.

"What?" She inquires confused.

"N-no... S-special K"

_The cereal? No that's not right. K on the periodic table is Potassium but that's a far stretch. Special K... _She repeats the phrase in her head a few times. Her mind skims over all the possible meanings. Not the cereal she hopes.

Then it clicks. She vaguely remembers something from a campus safety seminar. She had personally wanted to learn all of the street names of different drugs so she could be more aware. Also being a future doctor and/or biochemist, she figured the information would be useful. She silently thanks her parents for making her seek out that type of information to keep her safe. If only she had known how useful it would be.

Special K is the street name for Ketamine. She's heard that it's also used as a 'club' drug since it causes the recipient to hallucinate and renders them nearly incoherent.

_Here? At SHIELD?_ She wonders incredulously. Well, there can be scumbags anywhere, she guesses. The more and more she looks into it the less it seems like he stood her up on purpose. She just hopes that those guys weren't actually going to... She stops herself from finishing the thought. Turning her attention back to Leopold she feels another wave of pity for him. She's treated him like a rival this entire time, and maybe he still is, but a deep feeling in her stomach tells her he's not as bad as she once thought. She wonders briefly how she's going to get him out of here. Even if he is as light as he looks, with him not being able to move at all she would have to carry his entire weight across the campus.

Ketamine only lasts around an hour. She hopes that they only gave him a little since they didn't seem to actually wanted to do... _that._

"Leopold—"

"Fitz." He corrects with a mumble. He's barely conscious and is still correcting her. Is what name she uses to address him really that much of a priority right now? She scoffs.

"_Fitz, _do you think you could maybe get to your feet?"

He gives a weak nod, and she grabs his right hand to help pull him. He slides his other hand heavily across the floor as if about to push himself up but it doesn't seem to happen. He plops back down before grimacing, his features turning pale before he wretches onto the concrete floor of the Boiler Room. She cringes as he throws up all the liquid he drank, his own and... the others.

He can barely move and he has the strength of a half-dead jellyfish. How is she supposed to help him?

She supposes she can enlist the help of her friends, which is about her only option unless she wants to get a teacher involved (AKA an even worse idea).

"Stay here." Jemma says to her 'patient' even though she knows he can't do much else. She hurries to the booth her friends were seated in.

"Hey, what took so long? It's been like twenty minutes—" Kelsey, a redheaded physics major, asks curiously. Jemma doesn't know how to respond at first. Does she tell them the truth? That a student got drugged against his will by guys who aren't even supposed to be here? Or does she make up some ludicrous excuse? She's never been terribly good at lying. She realizes she's been silent for too long and just goes for it.

"I need—"

"Hey um, can I talk to you for a second?" A voice cuts her off from behind. She quickly turns around to face the sad guy from the group of idiots that got her in this mess in the first place. She looks back at Kelsey who's smiling suggestively at the sight of a guy asking her to talk.

"Go on, don't let me stop you from having fun." Kelsey giggles with a shooing motion, completely unaware of the dark circumstances.

Jemma allows the young man to guide her to a more isolated area by the bathroom to say what he needs to say. She cranes her neck check on Fitz from where they are but he's on the other side of the bar.

"What do you want?" She inquires shortly.

"I... I didn't mean for it to be this bad."

"How _did _you mean it to be then?" She asks accusingly. Any way you look at this, it's still horrible.

"He's been doing my papers for Chemical Kinetics, and some of my friends from Ops found out so I told them he might do their work too."

_What?_ _They could both get in serious trouble if they're caught!_

"Why would he do something so stupid?! You guys could get expelled! Are you paying him or something?"

"I uh... No." He scratches his neck nervously. "I didn't really give him a choice. I... locked him out of the dorm until he agreed to do it." He confesses regretfully.

Jemma frowns. That's quite cruel, especially since winter was closing in so soon. All she can picture is Fitz shivering outside the doors begging for this guy to let him in.

"So what do you want now then?"

"I feel horrible about it... I thought I could help. Those guys took it too far, I think they put something in his drink."

"Yeah I know. I just need you to help me get him back to his room, can you do that?"

"Of course— I'm Landon, by the way."

"Jemma." She replies although she figures he already knows her name since she's pretty much the top student besides... _Besides Fitz_ she remembers sadly. She wastes no time heading over to where Fitz was. Thankfully he's still there, but he's slumped over on his side instead sitting up like she left him. Between the two of them, they should be able to help him back to his dorm fairly easily with him being such a lightweight.

"Grab his other arm and support it over your shoulders like this—" She shows him how she's doing it on Fitz' other side. He nods and copies her actions. "We stand on three. One, two, _three_—" They both stand up and adjust a little so Fitz' weight settles between them, each person supporting one of his arms, although Landon seems to be taking most of the weight.

The trek to the male freshman dorms is long and arduous but they make it eventually, with both helping parties exhausted from helping their friend such a long distance across campus. Fitz' legs clumsily stumbled the entire time, trying and failing to hold his own weight. When the three of them reach his room, they drop him off on his bed which Jemma had to clear papers and schematics off of while Landon supported Fitz' body on his own for a minute. She looks around his room for a moment to see even more blueprints and designs than last time covering almost every surface. His bedspread wrinkled from sleepless nights of tossing and turning. They say your living space reflects your mental and emotional state.

The place screams organized chaos. Every piece of paper is covered with messily jotted down ideas and sketches of ideas.

The SHIELD-medic-in-training shivers at the oddly chilly temperatures in his room. She looks over at Landon with a questioning look and he gets the gist.

"Oh, the heat goes out pretty often. Just our luck right?" He jokes sardonically. "They usually have it fixed by morning though."

Jemma sighs at their misfortune before thanking Landon and telling him that she can take it from here, and he leaves still feeling a little guilty. She was originally apprehensive about staying here with Fitz but he needs someone to watch him and she doesn't fully trust Landon. Plus it will be great practice for taking care of any patients medically in the future. She looks him over. His eyes are still open and staring up at the ceiling, but they travel around lazily, not focusing on anything in specific. His grey sweater is still soaked with alcohol and a little bit of vomit from earlier. She scrunches her nose. The thought of undressing him makes her blush, but leaving him in his wet clothes when there's no heat is probably isn't the greatest idea either. There's no way around it, she realizes.

_He's just a patient. You'll see this all the time, plus it's not like he'll be completely naked since his pants are dry. _She reassures herself, stepping toward the bed.

"So... I need to get that wet shirt off of you okay? I know it's not ideal, but if you stay in those wet clothes in your weakened state you could get sick." He doesn't reply outright, just a scared breath escaping his throat. This situation must be so terrifying, not being able to move, at the mercy of everyone else. She doesn't think he's really coherent either, what with the things he let slip about his father, which was _awful _if it means what she thinks it does.

_He couldn't have had a past like that could he? Well... everyone's had there own traumas I suppose. _She regrets treating him so coldly all this time. Maybe he just wasn't good at socializing. She moves to try and touch him but he flinches stifles a whimper.

"It's going to be okay. I'm not going to hurt you." She tries. He seems to understand that at least, and calms down a bit. Pulling the sweater up over his head and arms, she curses when she realizes he's wearing a button-up underneath that was not protected from the liquid by the sweater's thin material. That's not going to slide off easily. She throws the sweater at the end of the bed and pushes him up into a sitting position some difficulty. She situates her body a little behind his to keep him propped up while her left hand works on the buttons, his head falling backwards onto her shoulder. The buttons come from free quite easily, obviously a well loved and regularly worn.

From there, she works the shirt off of his shoulders and down his limp arms. With one hand still against his bare back, it brushes against some slightly raised marks. She leans closer to look only to release a sharp breath. The sight makes her stomach drop. Faint criss-crossed marks cover his entire back. Long since healed, most of them are barely visible... but to the eye of an inquisitive medic, the signs of aging scar tissue are hard to miss.

_It could of been from an accident... _She tries to convince herself. But then, _An accident wouldn't make such repeated congruous marks of varying ages. _She was right. There's no other way he could've gotten scars like these without some sort of abuse.

_God, who would do that to a child? What if his abuser is still at home waiting for whenever he comes back?_

Fitz would probably be horrified that she saw these if he were conscious, so she vows never to mention it to him until he's ready to talk about it and hopes to God that he doesn't remember this later. His thin form is shivering with either fear or the cold— she prays it's the latter.

After rummaging through his dresser drawers for something easy to slip on him, she re-dresses him in the black hoodie he wore during their last meet up to keep him warm in the heaters absence.

_You'd think for a billion dollar high tech government institute, they would have some sort of innovative, top of the line, indestructible heaters or something. _She gripes to herself.

Jemma looks over at her peer somberly. His eyes sluggishly open up again but stay unfocused. A choked noise comes from his throat like he's trying to say something. She leans closer. He coughs weakly once before muttering in her general direction.

"M'srry I didn't..." He swallows thickly. If she wasn't a UK native she probably wouldn't be able to understand his slurred accent, but growing up there she had heard quite a few drunk Scotsmen in her day. He tries to continue, "Left you'lone. Sorry."

She sits up straight a little surprised. He was drugged and assaulted by a bunch of thugs and he's apologizing for not showing up to their study date. Who even does that?

"M'so stupid... Y'should go. Shouldn't have t' h-help..." He whispers.

She's starting to understand his personality a little more and she's not sure if she likes it. She's stuck with a drugged, mentally and physically scarred guy who is so self deprecating he thinks he doesn't deserve help.

"Don't say that. I forgot about our date anyways." She lies to save his feelings, although it takes her a second to realize how it sounds. "I— I mean not that it was a _date _date, I just meant a study date. For studying."

"C-Can't know you're here."

"What? Who?"

"Dad. He's... It isnnn safe."

Jemma _really _doesn't like where this is going.

"Uh... w-why is that?" She inquires.

"H-He'll—" He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. The next thing he says is too quiet and slurred for her to comprehend and she deflates a little. What he said was quite worrying and she wants to know more but she has a strong feeling she won't get that luxury at the moment. The engineer's head lolls to the side as he passes out.

Jemma suddenly feels the urge to go call her parents and tell them how much she appreciates them. For the time being, she just sits and stares at the room around her. A lot of his papers have been scattered accidentally on the floor like he was searching for something in a hurry. She stands and inspects them closer, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Among them she sees complex designs for varying pieces of technology, some drones and other gadgets, what catches her eye is a non-lethal tranquilizing firearm that's intended to deliver a dendrotoxin but the formula was rudimentary and could use work. The schematics for it were very complicated but brilliant, and she finds herself impressed with his knowledge of the chemicals based on the formulas written in messy script.

The bio-chemist gathers all of the papers on the floor with the ones she was holding and creates a neat stack before sitting them on his desk. On the surface next to the papers is a grainy picture that was worn around the edges. In the photo is depicted a small boy with being carried by a middle-aged woman with hair equally curly as the boy's. The woman had a bright smile, but the boy looked troubled.

_Must be his mother. _She deduces. _But no father..._

She lays the photo back down on the desk. Sitting back in the office chair she sighs, deciding to stay until he wakes up. If she leaves him alone, who knows what could happen? He could have a seizure, or end up choking on his own vomit because he wasn't able to move.

No. She's not going to leave him until he's able to move on his own. Plus, the drug should be wearing off by now.

"No... stop..."

She sits up straight, the whispering pleas breaking the silence are enough to sober her from any residual drowsiness. Fitz whimpers and tightens his fists around wads of the sheet.

_That must be why his sheets and blankets are always so rumpled..._

She can hear his teeth grinding from where she's sitting a few feet away. She stands abruptly from the office chair, sending it rolling away behind her as she moves towards the bed. His breaths are coming in quick disconcerting pants through clenched teeth. She's never seen someone have a nightmare before and it's really quite unsettling. The young doctor can't help but try and wake him rather than prolong his suffering. She lightly shakes his shoulder bracing herself just in case he shoots up like in the movies, but he doesn't. His eyes snap open and he yelps in surprise, pressing himself further into the bed.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Fitz asks shakily, a look of shock and anxiety tainting his features.

"I— wait... You don't remember?"

He looks down, lost in thought, then shakes his head nervously.

_Right. That kind of drug can cause memory loss of the time when affected._

"Uh..." She debates lying to him. Telling him something he wants to hear, but ultimately decides against it. Based off what she's seen, Fitz doesn't really trust anyone, or doesn't really have anyone _to _trust, more like. She sighs. "What do you remember last?" She quizzes. Whatever is the most recent thing he can recall she'll build off of.

"Um..." He still seems a little unsettled and confused. "I was... I was in the Boiler Room with... some friends."

_Definitely __**not **__friends... _Jemma thinks darkly, and pulls the chair back over before sitting back down.

"Okay, then what?"

"I was— wait... how did I get back here?"

"That's what I'm trying to get to. Keep going." She urges.

"Okay. Uh I was drinking— _not _alcohol though. They guy ordered me a juice or something. I was drinking and then I started getting really... dizzy. Then I... I... can't remember. _I can't_ _remember_." He repeats, a sudden panic creeping into his voice. He's sitting up in bed now, hands once again fisted in the blanket covering his lower half "Why can't I remember?!" The lack of knowledge is obviously freaking him out.

"Hey, calm down... I'll explain, alright?" She looks at him earnestly and he takes a shaky breath before nodding. "You—"

"Wait— I didn't meet you for our project! I am _so_ sorry. Ugh I always do this— why do I always screw everything up?" He presses the balls of his hands on his temples, hunching forward. He must not remember apologizing too.

"Hey it's alright, I don't blame you, just listen..." He lifts his head up to look at her, the genuine surprise on his face that she doesn't blame him makes her feel a little sick. "I was in the Boiler Room too with some friends. I went to the bar to get another drink— also non-alcoholic— when I saw you with those..._ guys._ The one next to you tossed his drink in your face. From what you had told me, I was able to figure out that they had drugged your drink—"

Shock overwhelms him. He had never done drugs before. Never dreamed of it. Now he's had drugs and he's not clean anymore that's illegal he's going to be arrested andputinprisonandprobablygetshankedwhathashedoneheshouldhavenevertrustedthem—

"—forced you to drink that alco—"

Fitz stopped being able to hear her all together as some of the hazy memories and feelings came back to him in flashes of sensation. The burning of the liquor in his lungs, pressure from his hair being pulled, overwhelming memories of his father and the most prominent feeling of all— _terror. _There's an ache in his chest and he can't seem to take a proper breath.

_Oh God I'm just like Father I shouldn't have drank anything what if I get addicted now just like him_—

Jemma can see this is troubling him. He's breathing faster, eyes wide with shock. He doesn't seem to be hearing her anymore either.

"Fitz?"

Nothing. His eyes are darting back and forth unseeingly as he goes deeper into his own head.

"Fitz!" She yells and he flinches, snapping his head up. "Are you alright?" She asks gently, concern lacing her tone.

He shakes his head quickly, sucking in gasps of air. He feels like he's dying, maybe his body is finally giving up as much as his mind has. His mouth suddenly feels dry as he breathes through attack. His clothes feel tight all of the sudden, shrinking onto his skin like a vacuum seal. He rips the blanket away from himself, trying to remove some of the constricting fabric away from his shaking form. Stumbling off of the bed, he backs up until he hits his dresser and slides down it haphazardly, his legs not wanting to support him anymore.

The different trails of thoughts and fears pervading his brain are all competing with each other, each one getting louder and louder to be the strongest. Unfortunately he's been through this several times before, but it never gets any better. They're always just as bad as the first time. He starts to list the periodic table in order of atomic number in his head.

_Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen __**which he can't get to fill his lungs right now and it's really freaking him out this is not working...!**_

Jemma crouches down next to him, hands hovering over him but not actually making contact, a little dazed on what to do. All of her studying goes out the window now that she's in an actual situation.

_I was fine earlier! Why now? _She complains to herself. She might as well be as educated as someone from operations at this point.

"Hey um it's okay, you're okay! Please just... don't panic—" She knows it's a stupid thing to ask of him but not much else is coming to mind. _Okay, you're supposed to distract a person having an anxiety attack. There has to be something. _"Look at me—" She says firmly sitting directly in front of him.

"I... I c-can't—" He stutters and wheezes shaking his head quickly.

Taking his hand in her own, she guides it to lay flat over where her heart is, a modest distance above a more intimate area so it isn't awkward.

"Feel my heartbeat and my breathing. Focus on that and try to match it. You're always so competitive during our classes so this shouldn't be too difficult." She jokes to try and get the edge off. He nods shakily. Something from her studies finally makes itself known in her mind. "In for four, hold for four, out for four. Count with me."

As she counts she watches him struggle to control his breaths but he's slowly but surely the pace of his breathing starts to slow down. He seems frustrated that it's not happening quicker. "Take it slow." She reassures him, and a phrase her mother always said comes to mind. "Remember, the steps you take don't need to be big, they just need to take you in the right direction."

His eyes bore into her sincerely, tension ebbing away as he takes her words to heart and slows everything down. Thinking of just him and her in this room right now, ignoring all of his fears and anxious thoughts. Over the past few years of Fitz' life he's tried to deal with his anxiety attacks by himself. He didn't want to bother his mother with something so trivial and after she started working more, she wasn't really around. At least now that he's at the academy he doesn't have to worry about bothering her as much, but it's much more terrifying being alone.

"There. See, everything will be alright."

Fitz' heart starts to slow it's onslaught of pounding and he leans his head back against the dresser. The pain in his chest abates slowly, his hand absently rubbing the area of the aching. Jemma lightly touches his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"I don't want to be like him." Fitz whispers abruptly. Jemma's breath catches from anticipation.

"Who?"

"My father. He drank." Fitz elaborates briefly.

It all clicks. The hallucinations, the scars, his aversion to alcohol.

His father did this. No question.

"How could I have been so stupid? I shouldn't have trusted them. Agh I'm such an idiot!"

"Don't say that, you're the most brilliant person I've met."

The speed at which his head snapped up surprised Jemma, but not as much as the heartbreaking amount of disbelief and desperate hope clung to his features. He quickly schools his features back to impassive when he realizes it.

Jemma sends him a warm smile of reassurance.

"I saw some of your designs over there," She tilts her head in the direction of his desk. "They look amazing! How did you come up for the formula of those tranquilizer guns? It's quite complex for an engineering major."

He stares in awe at her observations.

"I uh… I figured if agents wanted to apprehend a criminal without killing them, like if they needed information or something… they should have a less lethal long distance weapon. So I used what I've been researching about biochemistry and applied it there. It's not that great, I— it's needs some uh— tweaking. I'm not as good with biochem as you…" He huffs a nervous laugh.

She smiles as his face reddens from the praise.

"I could help you out with the fine tuning if you'd like."

"Really? —I mean... uh yeah sure I uh— sure. Cool."

She gets up and starts rifling through papers, babbling about possible formulas and their respective properties. Relief floods through him. She doesn't seem to be angry or hate him at all. He might have actually made his first real friend here. The prospect makes him smile and he watches her with admiration as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear while flipping through the pages, still chattering with exciting possibilities

Who knows where this might lead?


End file.
